


If you disappear,then I'm disappearing too

by Hobo_Cadaver



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur Morgan Lives, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Flirting, Bathing/Washing, Body Image, Body Worship, Car Accidents, Caring, Depression, Drinking, Dysphoria, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, First Kiss, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, John Marston is not Jack's father, Kissing, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, On Hiatus, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sappy, Self-Esteem Issues, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Tenderness, Terminal Illnesses, This fic is going places, Vines, Whump, and humor, and summaries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobo_Cadaver/pseuds/Hobo_Cadaver
Summary: Chapter 1: At the bar John meets a particular man. He gives himself some time to deal with feelings which the encounter brought.Chapter 2: John has an epiphany; Arthur griefs. They both meet in unprecedented circumstances.Chapter 3: Arthur wakes up in John's apartment.
Relationships: Eliza/Arthur Morgan (past), John Marston & Abigail Roberts, John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Sadie Adler/Abigail Roberts Marston
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. It makes no sense, but I’m desperate to connect

**Author's Note:**

> Um..hi?  
> 👉👈  
> I wrote it as a vent and I'm sorry for any mistakes.

_He_ was there. Again. Somehow this guy in the bar’s corner brought to John the feeling of strange, in-depth connection. There was something about him. Something so familiar, warm and wholesome that could be read as almost home-like. Inviting. Cozy. Damn.. How can one be homesick toward an unknown man.. To Marston it felt comforting, sugary and overwhelming in a way, but right, oh, so right. Perhaps he was getting real drunk now or maybe, just maybe, it was a real longing to feel, settle on _his_ lap, to be held in _those_ strong arms-

“You catchin’ flies, John?” Sadie’s chuckle interrupted his train of thoughts. “It is quite impolite to stare like that, you know. Sure he wouldn’t approve of this kind of attention..” John finally closed his mouth, giving her a look instead of a verbal reply. Not knowing what shall be said in that situation he decided to remain quiet and pour some liquid into his throat. Finally, he got up and seated himself on the stool next to the bar to keep on gazing more secretly on the most endearing sight in this small, godforsaken world. Though it was a pleasant view, stunning even, more and more dejection crept into John’s mind and painted his face as eyes studied the man sitting on a couch in the diagonal corner. There he was among many glassed, but drinking not to enjoy, it seemed. To forget? Ease himself? It was clear that person in question was a rather burly, _big_ in every sense of the word, middle-aged male who happened to be in a spleen now. This guy of a bear posture had his arms slumped forward as if he attempted to look smaller (to no avail), likely trying to hide from something or someone. Nobody, except obviously for John, even blinked toward this man, yet he tried his best to disappear. To not be seen. Probably he wished for a change that did not or couldn’t come, maybe it came crushing, unexpected. Like storm, tornado, terminal illness, loss of a loved one or job; can be anything. His head covered in overgrown, straight, dusty blond hair was certainly filled to the brim with those thoughts. He looked tired by them, but not capable of resting, letting go. _One of those selfless maybe_ thought John to himself and kept looking. The gruff man practically haven’t moved since Marston has started studying him. He sat still, only to take a labored breath once in a while, a sip of some whatever-drink or.. allow his body to shake? Yes, now it was noticeable that his peaceful aura and demeanor broke some time ago, now only shattering a little more; he sobbed. No tears came. None. Just this feeling of helplessness flooded him, stirred all the mighty sorrow within and left dryly in this silent cry. So quiet, breathy almost. But there was a great amount of boldness in this man, John reckoned, to out his feelings here, in a public place. Just to do it, really. He could never. There was no shame in it, whatsoever, to let tears flow, to laugh or scream too, but somewhere deep inside of the young adult that Marston was, it grew for no reason. In spite, probably. To forever poison all the progress made during years spent in psychiatric wards and clinics, therapy sessions and consultations, only to be left _unfixed_ , dulled by medication and stigmatized. Alone, closed and unable to release all the tension, emotions trapped inside of him. He almost envied this older man, wanted to discover his secret. Has he lost all his shame? Was he not afraid? Was it alcohol’s magic? Well, he didn’t have the constant social reminder that he was somehow different. At least if he was – it did not show. Not like it would matter anyway. But John, he always stood out, not fitting in, usually ridiculed and left behind. “Only fags cry.” Sole words he remembered his father saying turned out to be true. _Fuckin’ queer._ Shedding a tear now would most likely earn him a bruise or broken nose and he certainly wasn’t in love with this prospect. He hung his head looking down into the calyx. In brownish liquid he saw himself . _Oh god, what a nance_ John made a mental note. His make-up was sparkling of sweat, wearing off. It can happen, was expected even. Especially if you have to cover yourself at work and then don’t have a minute to amend the mess it is after working your ass off during fuck-long shifts. And oh god, the scarring showed. “Fuck.” he muttered under his breath. _At least nobody will care enough to notice_ he though rising glass to his lips. Whiskey burned pleasantly. A feeling. Finally something other than overbearing sorrow and pang that John wished he at least knew the origin of.

“Gosh, look at these.” he heard over him, coming from beside the counter. Male voice followed by a throaty laugh. Marston felt embarrassed, it was certainly something about him that the guy noticed and proceeded to make fun of. “Only a fag would do something like that to _its_ nails.” _‘Something like that’_ ? _Nothing special really – plain ol’ black nail polish._ He turned to look at the man that had an audacity to speak like this. Failing afterwards to face the awful person standing there, fearful that might be the one who he was longing for. Some feller propped on the counter with his two friends, quite nasty looking, somewhat greasy and just unpleasant to glance at. All of them. The chief of their small pack gave John a lopsided smile, smoothing his large, fair mustache and hay-like hair as if that might help improve his appearance. “Pathetic.” They all heard from behind as the blond man approached the bar. As he stood and walked over the three scoundrels, the youngest finally saw the guy in his prime. How he could be even taller and bigger than Marston had seen earlier? And Christ, if he didn’t carry himself well, every inch and pound of his body. _Sweet_ _Jesus_. Broad shoulders, hard pectorals, those strong arms slightly straining on flannel sleeves. A bit thicker in the waist where his shirt was tucked in and below the belt – deliciously meaty thighs embedded by dark, loose jeans. Shame he couldn’t get a peek at the toned ass this guy surely sported. He was for sure, overall.. endowered. _So fuckin’ hot._

“Ya better leave that man be, Micah.” handsome stranger insisted, his voice adamant. Body clenched, but somehow also relaxed, his arms crossed over breadth of his chest. Low growl clearly surprised the older, seedy guy and made John’s knees weak. At least good that he sat on a stool since if not – he would likely fell down, face first. Men measured each other, looking over themselves, Micah friends giving him a hint to let it be, that he’s treading on some thin ice, but that slimy fucker was persistent. “Are you talkin’ to me, _pretty boy_? “ The blond guy shifted, growing angry by the passing seconds, clearly losing his temper. Although still holding onto hope that maybe the other was just badly hit in the head by a horse in the past and the bullshit he sputtered this idly resulted from the unfortunate accident. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just stupidity. “Is that your whore I’m pok-” _It was._ He couldn’t finish the sentence, the burly man didn’t let that happen. Urge to shut this nasty chap was much stronger than common sense. In a moment the taller placed a hand on the nape of the other’s neck and after that, the latter’s head hit the wooden counter with a lewd sound. Crunch. Ouch, that must have hurt. Micah tried to take a breath through the crushed nose, but only a slurp of blood was audible. He didn’t say anything, only turned and fled, embarrassed, his fellows followed after as they felt the burning gaze of the big man on their backs. “What a sack of shit..” he rather spat than muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah.” Sadie replied, not even turning to the guy, polishing up the glasses behind the bar. “You shouldn’t give in so easily in such instances. An’ better if you head out before Dutch comes bitchin’ around.” she added. The man lost all the vigor and barely paid young adult a mind, but eventually he moved his head towards him to give a faint smile, almost unnoticeable. But hey, it was there, right? It was. Seemed it has been the last spark of happiness that the stranger could muster. But he did it. For John. He must be now flushed red like a foolish lovesick teen he thought to himself. Hopefully it didn’t show from beneath the foundation, primer, concealer, powder and blush. One last heated glance. One look at that gorgeous feller-“You know, mister, your pretty blush would show better without that caked on makeup.” _You should show it off_ was left unsaid by the blond who started walking off to the table in the corner to gather his belongings. John mouth almost went full slack as his cheeks burned like arson under his skin. “Bye, Sadie, see ya!” he shouted, waving goodbye to the woman behind the counter. “See ya, Arthur, take care!” she replied mimicking his gesture. Mysterious gentleman left through the front door, letting in the night’s breeze. He dissolved under the cover of the day that passed. _Arthur_ John noted in his brain. He cannot forget. _What a man._

“You two are really something.” Sadie said amused, leaning on her side to nudge the young male who stared absentmindedly after the guy that just went out. “And who’s saying that? Already forgot how you ran after Abigail’s train? You seem to be one to know this feller tho.” he squabbled in response, acting offended. A devilish grin splayed on his face. “Not like I stand a chance anyways.” Woman shrugged and suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, well, _know_ is a lotta’ be said ‘bout my connection to Arthur Morgan.” she talked taking off her apron and preparing to the bar’s closing. There were, beside them, utmost two people left, already gathering their stuff to leave. It has been real quiet for an hour now. Sunday slowly approaching. Barmaid polished all the glass there was and collected the discarded leftovers, drinks, cleaned tables and swept the floor. John was all ears for her to spin the thread further, unraveling more of the enigma that was the man who he pined for. “Guess our paths crossed when he met Eliza. You kno-..knew her?” He shook his head. “She joined us in ‘Tahiti’ during her summer break. Don’t really remember what she studied, been a while now. They had a brief affair after that Mary girl cut him off and well.. next thing we know Eliza’s due in nine months. Shame it didn’t last..” Sadie sighed, closing her eyes. Something tightened in her as if she felt an excruciating pain. And it definitely shook her limbs, rising like a wave inside. “What happened?” John voiced his thoughts out of nowhere, anticipation growing within. Unsettled, scared, but interested. The downing feeling spread over the room. She averted her gaze as she spoke again, grief gnawing on her insides. “She..died along with her son in a car accident couple years ago.” Marston expected some horrible divorce story or home abuse tragedy, but not really the definitive ending of a relationship. “Horrifying.” he summed up. “Yeah. Guess it took a great toll on _him_.” John didn’t quite catch the drift so he wanted to clear off all the maybes. “What do you mean exactly?” Sadie cleared her throat and spoke again with immense sorrow. “Ever heard of survivor’s guilt?”

The night was one of the coldest lately so every fiber of his body shivered. Slight layers of muscle and fat beneath his skin have never kept him warm and so did they tonight. This year, September came somehow quicker and with autumn presumably stronger than ever before. Stumbling to his front door, John felt bitterness in his lips, though not a bile definitely. It was far too early. His mind after alcohol would be now sheer void, a blank space, if it weren’t for the man he met yesterday in the bar. Man that interceded in his case, all gentlemanly and daring, like knight almost. Never had a person done something like that for John and he couldn’t even thank this kind stranger. He would still do it, even if the man in question would very likely not accept the gratitude. Marston was really grateful. He’d like the idea of letting him know.

From what he learnt from Sadie, this guy was rather action-over-talk kind and absolutely selfless. Acting too harsh sometimes, other times shy and alienated, expression of feelings usually bound to awkward, inevitably from years of psychological abuse he endured. Scared of feeling too much or too little, but displaying none. Or otherwise. Once not enough, other time – excessively. Surely, world’s been hard on him. Overall presenting as a figure from ancient tragedy or romantic novel John would deny reading. Toyed by others and fate too, doomed, broken, but still standing, remaining a good person. How – younger couldn’t fully comprehend, only wondered why that guy didn’t go bonkers already or fell into underclass. He might, but not visibly anyhow. That whole state made this man even stronger than he already was in John’s mind. Also, made the latter ashamed how he was enraptured by the exterior while it was evidently so much more to the one Arthur Morgan. A whole lot, actually. Would be really poetic if it was a fictional story of a fallen hero who eventually gets a happy ending. Sadly, it was reality and besides, seemed the man had no good coming. No rest and forgiveness, especially his for himself. Not in near future likely. It really looked overall worse by the passing days, everything declining, going downhill. They didn’t know the worst was yet to come. 

John couldn’t close an eye and just lied until break of dawn in his bed, head bursting with thoughts. All bad, causing him to wander to his past where a part of him was left. The part buried by the dirt of anguish, scraps of repressed and crippling memories mixed with trauma, guilt, regret or plain dissatisfaction. 

He remembered the words of the blond about his blush and suddenly felt the weight of his make up as it burned on his cheeks and nose, where the cake was the most layered. _What am I trying to hide?_ he pondered. _Nobody cares, not like I also look better with it **all** on. But heading out without it? _He scratched his face, digging in the stale pile of residuals from yesterday and sighed painfully sensing an incoming panic attack. His heart pounded just below the ribcage, willing to escape and he felt himself clenching his fist right above chest. Maybe it was a cardiac arrest. Maybe not. Fighting for breath he collapsed onto the floor where he hit the rug and propped himself there on hands and knees. Still not capable of proper inhale, dizzy and hangover, he felt tears rolling from his eyes, hanging mercilessly on lower eyelids. _Glad no one could see this_ he thought. Still, even in the cover of darkness of his room he felt like being watched and laughed at. _Pansy_. _Queer._ _Girly_. Shame flooded and ran him over crushingly like a roller. The day has already started, few hours until his shift and yet, where he was? Pitiful, disastrous mess on the floor of his small flat, dirty, probably looking like drain rat or a raccoon. Eating trash wasn’t a nuance for his sorry ass so now, the affinity may appear stronger.

John looked at his clock on the nightstand, gazing below the blinds, seeing that daylight is creeping in. It was already past six. Almost half past. Very soon he’ll be getting ready for work and it just twisted his insides in a knot. Job at Target was actually a _treasure_ ; around the corner, fairly nice salary and days off he could have once in a while were convincing enough. In every other aspect this work was a merciless abomination. And it was not including regular shit that came free of charge with working retail. Bullcrap he had kept in touch with probably stained like an actual turd. The fact he had to be practically painted on his face to be accepted there was hideous, or cruel rather. Unnecessary at least. And yet – he stuck with it for couple years now. Not like he can be the one dictating the rules, anyhow. Not many places would choose to hire someone like him.

Showering took a bit too much time and water than expected to wake or clean John, didn’t properly do either, but, damn, if it would then it might have been a miracle. Though it never worked like that, sadly.

He wasted a one fifth of his cleanser before his face was freed from caked residual make-up and proceeded to apply new layer. Again. A-fuck-gain. Nothing new, nothing changed, same, old shit. When the torturous procedure ended, he sighed and decided to not put his thin hair into any formation, knowing it would likely gift him a mean comment from a coworker or a look from a customer. Ready to enter the hell of his job he ate something on the go, not fully conscious to prepare oats, smoothie or some other fancy deal of a meal to nourish him, just something to get him going. Like a Mars bar. Two. And like three cups of dreadfully black coffee, bitter just like him.

Few hours into his work and it became really crowded and loud. Usual stuff if you imagine store on Sunday, but from register perspective, shit was starting to go down. Like always. Pushy matriarchs asking for a manager, kids riding on the skateboards from the display and ruining everything on their way, men startled by tampons..“Honey, you didn’t tell me about the pussy sizes-” he once hear some dumbass say. Or people calling their spouses to ask what bread to get. Regular one? Like if it was the most important thing in the world. Yeah _Janet_ , we know you’d like that olive lentil bread-like product or quinoa-whatever, but _currently_ we’re out. You need milked cashews? Here. Sorry, I don’t speak _rude_. Yes, of course I can take the lactose out- “Fuck yalls bread, fuck the gluten and fuck them crackers!” someone shouted in the baking alley, outraged clearly. “Someone get this idiot outta here! Safeguard!” Came a large guy, dressed in uniform. “Listen, you either take these yeast or I’m calling the police.” “Oh, ok whatever.” _What. The. Hell. Jesus, how could people be so annoying?_ _I’m goin’ weast._ John thought to himself, rolling his eyes, proceeding to clean the mess. He suddenly bumped into one of his coworkers. Busty, blonde gal was just walking toward the depot, checking probably on the presumably out of stock stuff or going for a smoke. They greeted and woman stood there for a moment, beginning a conversation about quite a sensational topic. “Heard from Abby there was someone in your love department.” she grinned, poking him on the ribs. “Funny how nothing goes unnoticed here.” John replied with a smirk. “So who’s the prince charming?” “Hah, Karen, you must be joking now. It’s just a crush. Just leave it.” Girl stood straighter, looking him in the eye, hands on her hips. “Don’t you tell me you fell for some Goodwill-type again.. I swear you keep findin’ them in archeology museums or thrift shops..” It earned her a big oof and a giggle. “Christ, Jones, what the fuck. Now you must be shitting me-” They paused to laugh a bit . “But, actually, if you ever seen that guy, you’d think I found him in the snack aisle.” She made an ‘o’ with her lips, cocking a brow, giving him a lighthearted punch on the arm.

Later that day she actually got to see _the man_. The said person casually strolled through a store as if he got all the time in the world. _Bless him_. With that John got a lot of time to watch him from every angle, finally gazing over his whole silhouette in brighter light. And he thought to himself Arthur must live near since he came on foot. _Lucky day._ And indeed it was. Now, that Marston was legally sober, able to see more hence the glow tubes all over Target’s ceiling, this man seemed even more handsome than he had been in the bar. Now it could be seen how his face was tired, a fine, shadow-like lines under his eyes, a few wrinkles, a whole stock of beauty spots, scars, stubble blossoming into a fine beard. The observer reckoned what could be the age of this man. He appeared quite youthful, but there has been something antediluvian and old about his persona, not bothering, intriguing rather. Today he was in an informal attire; some fabric pants, plain t-shirt and a denim jacket. “Hey.” John whispered to Karen, “It’s _him_.” he added, gesturing with a nod toward the one. She stole a glance, or two. Okay, maybe four. Turning away from Arthur, trying not to be suspicious, flushed, she averted to the young man behind the register and, minding the distance between them she only mouthed silently. “Damn, he’s hot and thicker than a bowl of oatmeal!” and he gave her an approving look. “ _Told ya.”_


	2. It’s always darkest before the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from : https://youtu.be/WbN0nX61rIs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: alcoholism, suicide attempt, mental illness, terminal illness, brief mention of death (from terminal illness)
> 
> So this chapter is a bit more serious than the previous. Might be triggering.  
> Please, take care and remember you're not alone in your struggle. You are enough. You are not a burden. Better days will come.  
> If you need someone to talk to you can message me on tumblr (h0b0cadaver), but remember that I am NOT a trained or licensed specialist, nor doctor and can't provide you a treatment and just overall help. For that you should consider scheduling a check-up with a therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist. Seek help if you think you, your loved ones or friends might need it.  
> ❤️Stay safe, wear a mask and take care.❤️
> 
> THIS SITE IS REALLY HELPFUL: http://www.suicide.org/index.html  
> (DON'T let the name fool you tho)

Some realization came to John and he felt quite dim-witted about it.

All these times he had seen Arthur at the bar and later, in Target actually weren’t the only ones he saw him. Somehow, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he forgot other ones and how the little amnesia happened in the first place. Thinking back to those moments, bit by bit, he got a picture in his head of just how many times they seen each other. Animal shelter. Malls. Therapy center. They almost brushed shoulders there. Dollar store. Goodwill, once or twice, but he was with someone. Hell, both of them even been to Pride a couple of times, with company. Abigail and Sadie always went with him and took Jack when the boy was old enough. Marston vaguely remember anyone the older was with. He had some friends… Well, two brown skinned guys, one real beefy, tall, pan as he reckoned by the flag he held. Second was definitely younger than previous, lean, brought a girlfriend w/ him, both presumably allies. There was also one Latino man, quite overdressed, even for an event like that. No offence, tho. Looked good, had fun and that mattered the most. But Arthur seemed to get lost in the crowd (though John seen him as if he was the only person there). Never he had a flag, nor bright clothing, also barely revealing any skin. Not like this should be judged (because it was his own damn business what he put on), but Marston felt like it might not have been fully his choice. Maybe someone told him something nasty about his appearance? Maybe he’s just coy? If _he_ was to say anything and had any courage to talk to the older, he would definitely praise him. Frankly, he would praise the ever-living, respectfully, _shite_ out of him. He would say every word that could describe the beauty of his body, how was he seen through John’s eyes. Arthur deserved all the affirmations and love one can give.

John would sometimes lose himself in those thoughts, but he was aware that they can be shared with someone. Someone already occupying Arthur’s heart, his mind, bedroom.. There may be some _missus_ waiting for him at home with a dinner by candlelight. With a child or children even. There might be a wife or a husband, or more, who knows and who even cares ‘bout it. Things aside – John cared, in a way. It was pure jealousy and anger some days, but usually it wasn’t and not so seldom did he have these kind of thoughts of presumable Mrs. Morgan or other Mr. Morgan. About waking up beside Arthur, living with him, taking care of him, kissing him, making lov- Well, sometimes he got carried away. His mind already full of everything considering this one certain man and heart so much fond of him…

But his very heart sunk when he saw the state of the said man tonight. Not gazing at him for over two weeks already done the damage, but today, it was beyond hurtful while the sight of the other has been annihilated and in a state of ruin. _Wreck of a man._ Barely recognizable almost. Whatever devastated him must have ran him over dozens of times, smashed him to the ground, depleted of energy, sucked it all out. It certainly appeared so. John has never seen Arthur this unkempt, nearly dirty and so miserable, tired, with eyes red, face stained with tears. That picture almost brought him to a maudlin humor. His eyes welling up, threatening to spill. Too close to the edge..

*

Arthur wasn’t feeling _well_ for the most of his lifetime, but these last months were really tiring him out to the point of breaking. Actually, it felt like something, or someone, was testing his limits, putting to a sick proof. _Why?_ he asked himself sometimes, but it was always left unanswered. _As if there was anyone to give me a reply._ He was no preacher, nor believer, wasn’t sure if he was even baptized. In no way he held his trusts in any sort of messiah, higher good, god or whatever. Had no problem with people who did, but wasn’t the one to put any mind to the prayers and believing in the first place. Guess, the world was too perseveringly bringing him down to earth to pay attention to the great beyond of theology and beliefs. _Weird, incoherent stuff made-up by people for people to fight people who were different, especially in terms of faith_ as he wondered sometimes, often drunk out of his mind. It once occurred to him that he might be getting more sober with each bottle or glass and it really was not a good sign or the trail he’d like to track. The thing was, he had been drinking more for better part of the year now and fall was at the door. Banging. Like a fucking bailiff. He thought about his blatant addiction, getting worse by months, clearly loosing the progress he started two years ago. It was gone now, all went to shit with Hosea’s illness, which wasn’t obviously older man’s fault. There was nobody to be blamed for the cancer, but for drinking himself to sleep, to wake, intermitting tasks by getting wasted, getting tipsy from boredom, for fun, while angry or low.. Arthur often felt guilty for his actions, but mostly after, when his misdeeds were unable to be amended. Liquor, brandy, whisky or beer didn’t ever ask, were not to be questioned, it all just went down easily. Always. Again, he was getting very close to the point he started from three years back. It was a place nobody would like to end in. Him included, but somehow, he once had been there and vaguely remember how it felt. When it came to him sometimes, he couldn’t help, but deny, tearing down or heating up. But it _did_ happen. And it could happen again, but this time he would not survive it.

About three years ago, he woke up in a hospital bed, confused and aching. Gladly (as they said), he survived a car crash (again), but the tree damaged his vehicle. Since he was very inebriated while driving and could have caused a greater accident, they charged him with a high fine and took away his driving license. For good. The worse news were that his alcoholism had _really_ gotten out of hand and he should seek immediate help. Therapy, medication, consult- _Christ_. And medical bill..bills. Piling up. He could have passed along Eliza and Isaac two years ago and now he, not only almost died alone in a similar situation, but from drinking himself to his grave. He could have had a fatal alcoholic epilepsy attack, heart failure or end up in a coma. It would be a real wake-up call if he already didn’t try to end his life. _Shame’s someone can’t just take this time I have left here for better use_ he reckoned sourly. He let this thoughts poison him as if he deserved it all. All that happened. All the evil contained in his life caused and brought upon him or others by none other than himself. Dr. Grimshaw tried talking him out of this mindset, but like an oil stain, it didn’t ever fully rub off. Her counseling helped a lot, dragging him through the darkest time of his life, but therapy and medication sometimes can be not enough. “Maybe I am too shattered to be fixed.” he said once during his session, crying his eyes out and powering through quarter of a box of tissues. “I would not put it like that.” Grimshaw stated. “You don’t need mending, Arthur. You are a human; breaking, bending, flawing – all normal, humane things. Emblems of humanity. Sometimes those bring you down, sure, you will fail, make mistakes, receive new scars, but life’s no bed of roses and you’re not made of glass. There’s no vanity in it. You grow and learn, that’s what matter. And you will someday learn to live with your imperfections too. Better days will come.” she ended, taking his hands in hers, smiling. For a second, he reciprocated. She was right.

*

He went to counseling less when it started getting better and was it probably a huge mistake to take this break. Therapy mainly worked him out of alcohol dependency, but depression with stress squeezed dry all his will to live. He slipped once, twice, more & more, battling to contain the pressure of all the haunting issues. He took a week off and, whilst staying at home, broke completely into worst of old habits. By Wednesday he drank through supply he picked on Sunday and barely deterred the urge to down the pure alcohol used to disinfect wounds. John standing behind the register looked at him _then_ with square eyes and asked for his ID. It was a bit amusing to Arthur, he almost laughed out loud, but shown it after all. Saw the young struggle to read from it, but the scanning and putting other info into the screen above cashbox was more of a torture. A real one. Morgan figured along the way, that the guy was probably dyslexic or had some other disorder he couldn’t help. He just waited as patiently as he could, giving him all the time in the world, quietly standing and putting his _groceries_ into bags he brought along. It was high time he laid off all the shit he usually got (and _this_ _time_ too) and maybe learned how to cook, or first – eat properly. He might get into a better shape, maybe someone would look at him with more fondness, not just disgust. Not like jelly beans, Reese’s and digestives were meals anyway. Crackers didn’t count too, especially with _side_ alcohol, still water, hideous amounts of coffee and coke zero. _Jesus_. It was now beyond embarrassing, but John was out of his league, anyhow. _Who would want a guy like me?_ he wondered briefly. _No one?_ _Fat, old n’ nothing to offer. What am I even thinking? Why?_ A voice brought him out of his mind. “Um, that would be 213 $ and 70 cents, sir. Cash or card?” voiced Marston out, eyeing up Arthur from behind the register. Morgan felt flushed and so, so ashamed. “Card, please.” he replied, darting eyes to his wallet. 

After the unprecedented week-long alcohol binge ended, he somehow mustered enough energy to go back to work. It was the only way – keeping himself busy as possible, working overtime so after he came home there was almost no will in him to shower. But he did. Always. Sore and unbelievably tired he went to bed, thinking about how he might just do it for the rest of his life to keep himself sober. To not be a useless drunk as per usual. Make something of himself, something good. Next two weeks went by and in the third, being almost October, he found himself longing for alcohol really badly. The thought of getting blackout drunk lingered with him for every day of the working week. He could not sleep or otherwise closed eyes for about two hours, getting by with drinking caffeine-enhanced beverages or plain coffee, dark and bitter to the core. Not a thing he usually did, but hot, black liquid was meant to wake the fuck outta him, not lull him into false sense of relaxing morning of his oh so wonderful life. Humor was not merry and the overall stress boosted him with adrenaline doing its job till it would just stop. He didn’t really have any time for himself so it was impossible to do anything else but basic routine. No other things occupied him, just waking to sleeping, sometimes eating, drinking, no alcohol. Once again life hit his weakest point. 

Hosea was being hospitalized for a two months to the day and Arthur came to visit a couple of times, but he didn’t think that he should have been more mindful of his words. Of actions. Gestures. Shall had he said his goodbye earlier. When the phone rang in amidst of night, Morgan knew. He knew. He had known for a good chunk of his life nothing’s forever given & most is taken away eventually. But when he heard the news first hand, something within him just snapped. Like if he wasn’t suspecting, like it wasn’t borrowed time anyways. How could he be so naïve that he believed some miracle would happen in his miserable lifetime? How is he supposed to just get over it and go back to _normal_? How will he live now? Mindlessly, he put down the phone on a nightstand, almost dropping it on the ground while gazing ahead blindly. Eyes already wet, face wrinkled, every dry spot of skin itchy, burning, getting sloppily drowned in tears. And he sat like a hunchback on the bed, flooded with draping quilt, usually so warm, comforting, but yet now cold and unwelcoming as a grave. The dimmed light crept into the room, but grazed like a blizzard. Sun could shine, day would start, but not for him, he thought, he already was left behind alone in yesterday. He flopped onto his back, feeling how his weight indented the mattress making it creak, remorsefully, and sobbed, covering his face with both hands. While curled on a side into a fetal position, his sobbing almost turned into muffled screams, unable now to stop grief from consuming him. _Hosea is dead._

When the crying ceased he started sounding as if something constrained his lungs with a tightly fastened belt. It took a lot of energy to call off his workday, stating he could not come today. Thankfully, Charles was sympathetic and took his part, having already rescheduled most of the visits planned at their vet clinic. Arthur felt like an anvil formed in his stomach, pulling him down and his breathing hitched abruptly. “What’s the matter?” he heard his interlocutor say, worryingly. He coughed awkwardly, attempting to clear his throat, feeling on his last legs, barely pulling himself together. “Hosea passed last night.” Broken voice betrayed him. Charles sighed at the other end of the line. “I’m very sorry for you, I really am. Take time, Arthur. If you need something, just call, we’re here for you, remember.” But he couldn’t listen, unable to pay attention. Just muttered something in reply, said goodbye and ended the call. Sun was going up to the sky, high above, but the previous warmth was gone.

That exact day he didn’t actually went out till evening hours. _Under the cover of night no one will even look at that disastrous mug of yours_ he thought to himself. Dressing up in whatever to look rather decent than descent he tied shoes, minding to put on two of the same pair. Even if he had a mirror he would nonetheless say “Fuck this.” and went out with no hopes whatsoever, because now, everything was worth crap. He unfortunately caught sight of himself while passing through the parking lot. God, he looked liked shit. _Oh my fucking god._ For some reason he had to look twice and yet saw barely anything. Damn it, he is going to drink in a dark bar, not walk down the runway. But there was no denying to himself – his appearance was worse than ever. When he hit ‘Tahiti’ it was probably about nine pm and raining. _Beautiful_. _Just fucking great._ Went in drenched, got a bottle of brandy and sunk in the couch where he usually sat. If his local convenience wasn’t literally out of everything, he wouldn’t be here now. Not like he was already heading this way after leaving Wendy’s.. but yes, he almost went back home empty-handed. Maybe then he would finally _taste_ his cologne. It would definitely be a new low, even for him. Used to never be four sheets to the wind in public, but now he felt like he’s getting there, rolling down, snowballing. By the time he consumed most of his brandy, he really was pretty nocked and saw a particular someone staring. With concern. Brow furrowed, puppy eyes, sadness. Worry. Young, skinny male with long, black hair, one he saw already many times. Gorgeous, but Arthur thought he doesn’t stand a chance. He hung his head. Now, he was plainly ashamed, because of the careful, maybe judging gaze. Why John looked at him in that particular manner? As if he was.. pitying him? _Like he cares. What a big, dumb bastard I am._ But, in fact, little did he know.

John didn’t realize that those sleepless nights from Saturday to Sunday became a habit of sorts. Some relentless energy always kept him awake that certain time of a week and this day he was going to be very glad for his periodical insomnia. He was still lying awake when first brisk, but faint, sunbeam tore his shadowy room. Rose it him from the bed and he eventually decided to pull up his blinds to see the dawn of a new day. His eyes swept the neighborhood; many, many buildings, mostly suburban-ish, but also quite large, from bricks and cement or something. Not like he knew anyhow. Look on the big park, bordering trees splattered with reds and yellows, an alley cutting it through, invitingly, a spiky fence near the narrow pavement and the long, dark road without any traffic. Street morphing into a great, metal bridge and then a highway not so far. And one man, one lonely man, walking slowly in direction of the riverbed.. Features of him familiar, even beneath the foreign clothing. Only those jeans and black hoodie. No, it cannot be.. Unless? He could not tear his eyes from the sight, but something felt wrong… like witnessing a train wreck that was about to happen.. Was he really going to- John hurriedly put a jacket on and some shoes, closing his door hastily behind, he run down the stairs till he reached the door and looked everywhere for the said man. Marston rushed his footsteps to the structure outstretching in front of him and there he was, at the other side of the barrier. “Wait, stop!” he shouted mindlessly, almost tripping over his feet. Waving his arms, gesturing to the feller to come over in his direction. Arthur hesitated, but stayed in place, still holding onto the metal bars of the bridge, water rushing low beneath him. “Why should I if I have nothing to lose?” he asked. “My time has passed.” his strangled voice followed by turning of teary eyes towards the younger. Look on his face so weary, dark crescents, bruise-like, skin pale, bloodshot eyes. “No. Don’t. Please, don’t jump.” John begged, slightly approaching the other. Small steps. No hurry. Delicate. Showing he means no harm by holding his hands a bit up, in front of his chest. “How do you know what’s good for me?” older man said. “Are you expecting me to say ‘that’s my opinion’?” Marston joked lightly, but carefully, placing one palm on the other’s stiff shoulder. Arthur tensed for a second, but relaxed himself, tiredly snickering. A couple of tears made it above the lower eyelids and slid lazily from his cheeks. And it took all the strength John had to wipe them with a thumb. After all, the action proven to be worth it, because he felt older man lean faintly to the touch.

“Here, take my hand.” younger finally said, outstretching his other arm reverently. Morgan actually took it, shaking, his palm a little sweaty. He made it over the barriers, struggling not to burst into crying once again. He now felt dizzy and lightheaded, world spinning, state of shock sweeping all over him. His body slumped over the other man, exerting a grunt from the unexpected contact. Arthur withdrawn momentarily, fearful of crushing him like a twig under a bear, only to be caught in a solid embrace. He held him so tight, felt so warm that he simply had to give in. “You just startled me a bit there. Don’t worry, you’re safe here for now. You’re not alone. Take it easy.” John muttered into his shoulder, hands tenderly tracing circles on his back. Arthur huffed, placing his arms around other’s waist, drawing him in. If they could only stay like this forever.


	3. The reason I hold on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wakes up in John's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, let me know in the comments if I should continue this fic or not.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. No. You know that people don’t often witness things like this, right?” Marston said surly, but meekly to his interlocutor. He had to call off their meet-up.“And you just brought a feller to your home, even if he’s a stranger? Jesus, John..” Abigail was probably shaking her head in disbelief now. Felt like it, even if he couldn’t witness it. “Stupid, little man.” She added, spared by his recklessness. “What was I supposed to do then?” he almost shouted back, voice cracking on the edge of volume and by all those withheld emotions being now let out. “He wanted to kill himself! He could have died. Cease to exist.” rasping, he hissed right to the microphone of his device, eyes welling up at the _thought_. Just how is she such a moron, that he couldn’t comprehend. Was she really that witless? Heartless?

Woman on the other side of the line presumably now shivered from the sudden change of tone, dumb-struck with the concern in his voice. So sorrowful. “And besides, he’s not a stranger..” John continued, trailing off, seeing now that Arthur was shifting on the couch, groaning painfully. “Anyways, hug Jack and Sadie from me. I‘ll call you in some time.” and with that he ended the conversation, sighing.

His eyes lingered on the big man grunting thru his restless sleep. The latter thrashed some more, sometimes scratching his arm or skin under his beard, scowling, frowning as if he was having a nightmare. A bad dream he was unable to wake up from, feeling trapped in a world of his mind’s creation. He started to sweat, struggling to take a breath, reputed weight crushing onto his chest, pressuring down his lungs. John scooted with his chair quietly toward the couch, placing himself just next to Arthur’s head. He brushed away man’s dampened hair from where it stuck to his forehead, then pulled the blanket over, tucked the other in, trying to make him comfortable.

The lying one seemed to become more at ease, relaxing his muscles and flagged completely after Marston got bold enough to lightly touch his face, tracing fingers down the latter’s cheekbones, making them both sigh in relief. Arthur produced a strangled noise, squeezing, then pushing open his eyes. They were certainly very sore, dry from the previous ongoing sleep deficit and an abundance of crying. He felt like it again. Seeing how John now towered over him, face scrunched, worried, scared even, he thought his own must be a real sorry sight to look at. Him, generally. _Uhh_ , _damn all’a_ _this_ he thought averting gaze toward his covered body, peering down to feet, seeing how he almost didn’t fit on the couch. _Too big_. Uh, the words had a certain sour feel to ‘em. He frowned absentmindedly. “I’m real sorry, I.. That I happened to be in your way.” Morgan spoke finally, trying to sound apologetic. _At least I didn’t fall asleep drunk on his doorstep_ he made a mental note. Not like it was going to cheer him up anyway. All this was a plain, ‘ol forest arson and they both fucking knew that already. Spread fast, further, deeper, so far in fact it devastated the area to cinders. _Goddamn mess, as always._ He now wanted to disappear more than ever. Dissolve. Become translucent.

The younger was struck by the words, not registering at first their meaning. Did Arthur truly say that? What was this man sorry for? For the massive breakdown, trying to kill himself? Why? _This is just heartbreaking_. “Don’t be, please. Ain’t your fault it came to _that_. And seriously, I am quite glad you were ‘in my way’.. That I once arrived on time.” John said, carefully choosing words, smiling timidly, hoping to warm up Arthur to himself. “You _needn’t_ have done that-“ the latter tried convincing, rather failing. “No, I _didn’t have to_ , but I did.” interrupted elder’s speech, stern as if he somehow cared more than the one that should do in the first place. “Felt I had to. For you.” _I would do everything_ was left unsaid, only replaced by a pale smile. Marston shifted his weight on the chair, asking if the other needed something. Anything. He was glad to provide, respectfully obliging, trying not to seem overwhelming or pushy and lastly the older decided to use restroom while John went to the kitchen.

Standing up from the knee-high couch proved quite challenging to Arthur. Felt like he had to crawl out of the ditch, prolly even as dirty and unpleasant as if ending up in this actual situation. Everything hurt, spun and wave of nausea risen up in his throat, hence he covered mouth instinctively. Upon being rocked forward, world once again wouldn’t stop and stilling himself was really hard. Until having had to walk which actually became a nightmare, but, at least, John turned away from watching the pathetic display. Didn’t mean he wasn’t all ears the whole time. But, thankfully, he wouldn’t mutter a word at the outlook. “If you need something, just holler, ok?” Mumbling something in response, Arthur sloppily went toward the bathroom on the left in the end of the narrow corridor.

After searching for the switch and flipping, immediately a poor sight greeted him. Unwelcome, at best. It almost boiled blood in him, just how bad his appearance shown itself in the wide mirror beneath the sink. He imagined how he would look, but froze anyhow. Didn’t expect it that way. So rarely he saw his own reflection, that the view of him, his eyes looking back and him overlooking himself from waist up, was almost startling. Or more like _gosh darn awful_ he stated silently. If he could, he’d probably smash the reflective glass to dust, but it was not his house and that action may end in John calling the cops on him. And that, he certainly didn’t like the prospect of. Yeah, and he might just get on the news after committing the weirdest forbidden act like a fucking maniac. Perfect. Glad it only essentially came to his morale declining in sonic speed; like he didn’t hit rock bottom few years ago in terms of his mental well-being and self-esteem. _Jesus_ , _definitely not a pretty sight_ he thought to himself, looking so deep into his reflection as if he wanted to see his own soul. “You _really_ are getting old.“ Arthur surprised himself by saying it aloud, examining dark lines around eyelids and wrinkles, rather shallow, but already visible. Leaning slightly on the sink, careful not to break it on impact. Mindful of his weight.. or rather – painfully reminded, he stepped back. Sighing, moving his gaze down, disappointment rooted further deep in him as the eyes lingered. Couldn’t bring himself to unclothe, not yet prepared to leer all-over the naked body of his. So, he plainly flopped onto the brim of the bathtub, breaking into a muffled cry. _Fucking ugly bastard._ In his mind he fought with himself, losing or perhaps his consciousness finally was giving up under the pressure. In fact, his self-berating thoughts were so loud and blinding he didn’t hear John knocking on the door and barging in with worry on his face. “You ok? What’s the matter?” A creak followed by a light stomp, all signalizing the other man got a bit closer. Morgan looked up at him, eyes leaking whatever was left of his tears. “Nothin’, just saw how I-” a wet gasp dissolved into the air between them. “I saw my reflection.” The older averted his gaze, unable to handle the contact, breaking. Younger frowned sadly, asking “Something wrong with it?” _What a stupid question_ they both thought momentarily, cringing, because, of course – there _clearly_ was. But not in John’s eyes. He tried to worm out the words out of the other’s mouth, stubborn and it all felt like pushing Arthur under water. “But.. haven’t you known how you looked?” The older shook his head. “Anyways, if you care for my opinion-” He kneeled at the older man’s feet who jumped a bit. “Can I?” John spoke up quietly as he asked to grab his hands. The latter nodded in condone, feeling settled as fingers brushed over his own. “So..” his lips curled into a bleak smile. “You might appear frazzled and kinda’ rough around the edges, but even despite that, I must say you really are handsome. Imperfect, sure, everyone is. Not like that’s a disadvantage. Makes you special, one of a kind, wonderful, gorgeous.. Besides, in my opinion, you may be the most daring person I ever met.” The older snorted in disbelief, eyes welling up, but his physiognomy contorted in confines of forced unhappy laughter. His pate lolled down with him sinking even further into his dire straits, thing supposedly imposed on him by his own brain. “Arthur.” The said man looked up. “Arthur, please listen to me.” John sounded despaired. Searching for his eyes, cradling his face in hands, he squished his cheeks a little, taking in the beauty of the blue and green irises. Colors flowing in them like a view of an ocean waves raging during storm. He was fighting the urge to kiss the guy. _Oh god._ “You are so much more than just your body. It is so much more to you than the skin you live in. Even if you consider it a prison, fighting against it while being unable to escape will only bring you down. And I wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t want that for you.”

Morgan was dumbfounded as he only gazed upon the latter, wordless for a moment. But the holy ambiance disintegrated soon. “Gosh, that was probably the sappiest shit I ever heard.” Arthur bursted into a laughter, tightening his grip on the others hands, intertwining their fingers together. Unsurprisingly, his body betrayed him as he swung backwards on the brim of the bathtub, gasping and fallen into it, pulling John on himself. Both chuckling, they somehow ended in a strangely romantic position, one right on top of the other, limbs tangled, panting through the cackling. When the sounds stopped, Arthur took a great moment to stare half–lidded-ly into the dark, puppy eyes of the other man. “Jerk.” John wheezed halfheartedly, reacting to latter’s earlier comment. Morgan huffed dismissively like offended, but truly, rather enjoying himself. Brushing away younger’s black, lanky hair, he finally smiled, mumbling some apologies.“ _Bid the heart stay, and it will stay_..” was muttered later into the air between them and they realized they’ve been getting closer to each other. Marston was thinking, looking for the right words, waiting for them to come as he sought for the other’s eyes. “Stay.” John proclaimed breathily into the tight space of their enclosing lips. “ _And’t shall do so for thee-_ “ They suddenly met. Both not witnessing the moment with their very eyes, close eyelids prevented it. Only left to feel the careful touch of mouth separating and getting together in prolonged, damp kisses. Arthur slid in his tongue and John moaned, taking it all, tasting. Arms now on the other’s nape, placing himself even closer to the older man, bodies connecting as the latter took him in, fully embracing. Felt like they would soon slowly proceed into love making, but Morgan was hit with a thought of something he probably shouldn’t put off anymore. He wriggled around, still not breaking the contact, but trying to stop the act for now. They lastly split, ogling dotingly. “It just occurred to me that I was actually supposed to clean myself, you know?” Arthur chuckled, John laugh followed right after. “Yeah, right, maybe.. mind if I help?” Older man seemed to consider for a while, but shrugged simply in the end. “I guess I will need it eventually, but.. don’t look too close.” Marston scoffed as if he had just been denied an access to some premium content. “What? Why? Do I have to pay a fee?” This time a scoff was elicited from the other. “Oh, very funny.” And there came a cocky reply with a smirk. “Very funny indeed.”

Tensing, Arthur slowly took off his clothing, facing away from the latter. He could not bear the idea of John looking directly into his face while he himself was in process of some striptease for paupers. Although sounding funny, the one who thought of oneself as poor or lacking, was perhaps the older as he undressed of the last of upper layers. Now he was naked from the waist up and shivering a bit with John, for sure, burning holes in his back. Though, peering over his shoulder, he saw the other preoccupied with his own thoughts, head down, giving Arthur privacy. A deep sight left the unclothing man while he unbuckled his belt an pushed down trousers, taking off boxers and socks next. Everything put quite neatly on the toilet lid for a long moment he stood fully nude till John looked up at last, just to be met with a sight that made him blush a little. The younger felt how something in his stomach fluttered; he couldn’t keep his hands from fidgeting nervously like he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them. It all was too much to ask for. Fire roiled in his groin ‘n a fever came to his heart as he stared so blatantly, lips parted. Mix of gasp and “woah” escaped his mouth. “See? Warned you.” The older man proclaimed confidently like John has just unleashed a beast who he mistook for a kitten. “Hold up, you didn’t tell me you are sexy as fuck. Where do I place my complaint?” Arthur was actually speechless for a second. Definitely not prepared for what the latter voiced. _What the hell?_

“What? Thought you were baffled by my ugliness and- And now you say- Oh, fuck you!” he said gesturing crazily. He just wanted to sound as if John had spilled lipstick in his Valentino bag. His Valentino white bag. Younger gazed at him baffled, hands on his hips, grin splayed on his face widely, frank and lustful. “How about you fuck me? Hm?” Older man’s physiognomy soaked in utter pink hue as he muttered a small “shut up”, clearly not meaning.

Arthur looked John directly in the eyes and the latter did it back, catching all the nuances of the other’s silhouette, one’s he didn’t catch before. Two pretty wide, red-ish scars on his chin, mainly hidden away by thick layer of weeks worth of stubble. The view was indeed marvelous; hands on its own slowly brushing over latter’s cheekbones, moving down to the neck, caressing shoulders

“If something ain’t right, just tell me.” That earned him a huffed, bitter laugh. “You wanna hear the story of my life?” John stopped for a sec, glaring in scolding manner. “I meant the touch bein’ wrong, but if you want-“ he cut himself not sure where he was going with his speech so Morgan jumped in, scoffy, but a tiredness seeped through the mocking demeanor. “ _Boah_ , no thanks. Not today anyways..” Marston understood; this particular feller had already one fair share of dire feels too much today, probably couple a’ lifetimes worth of them. “Buuut, you can proceed with your ministrations, t’was nice.” older admitted.

John smiled, wasting no time. He had all his praises and rewards to give out to this man. Probably more. And all he had righteously deserved. Now his fingers roamed along the prominent collarbones and abundant field of hair, but stopped abruptly. Arthur peered down to the place which startled the younger man, holding off his further tracing. Out of the blue, John voiced, stuttering with concerned. “H-how did this happen?” Fingers hovered over the left shoulder. A vaguely star shaped scar was evidently taking the focus. Big, angry pink colored splash framed by a darker line; looked like a terrible predicament has put this mark on his body. It appeared to have been deep, surely taking a great chunk of time to heal. “The accident, one that took Eliza and Isaac. I don’t really know much, but when we crashed, the windshield wiper pierced me thru. Guess the pain was so dull that I might have passed out then. Next thing I know I’m at the hospital, confused, left arm bordering on palsy. Severe nerve damage.. Still sometimes the weight of it kinda pulls me down.”

For another time it brought Arthur a sense of dread looming over him. Thoughts started racing and unveiling trauma spilled its filthy contents into his brain. This fuckin’ conversation had to be spoiled at some point, hadn’t it? Just why anything can’t be right? Why.. What is he doing now? What is he trying to accomplish here, if anything? Who is he kidding that it is going somewhere? He shouldn’t be here. “Hey.” John said, bringing him down to earth, out of his own mind. “No.” Morgan flinched, stepping back, suddenly feeling trapped and self-conscious. Realizing things.. stuff. “Don’t look at me!” he hissed pushing the younger’s hands down. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Seemed shaken by the trail everything went and collapsing into this mess again caused only the stupor to ensue. Younger man was weighing his choices. To John it appeared as if Arthur just stepped out of his body and came back, but very disoriented. Cornered. “Okay, you are safe. You want me to step out or get unclothed?” he tried a calm approach, speaking like to a frightened animal. The older has been losing the control built to keep his destructive drives at halt, but something beneath the surface struggled to manage through the hardship, to which he tried to obey. _Take it easy. Breath_ it has told him. ”I-I’m sorry, John, don’t know what came over me. Maybe’ m losing my mind-“ Arthur chose to speak up that thought first. Marston sighed somewhat relieved. “And” there he hesitated, knowing it will be seen as probably unexpectedly vulnerable of him. “I want you to stay. Please. Stay.”

*

They both sat in a bathtub, warm water sloshing and foam overflowing at the sides. It wasn’t big enough for them, but they managed, pulling their bent legs to chests, brushing toes sometimes. John was thinking of some conversation-starter, but only dumb phrases came into his mind. Will he really ask how often does he bathes? Another, even stupider tense would be “how often do you come here?” or “how do you like it here?”. He opted for the last of them, receiving a throaty laugh from the older. At least maybe it will loosen the tension and recent emotional outburst. “I’d say it’s kinda snug, to put it mildly.” John nodded agreeably. “Yeah, well, I reckon it is. Even too small for me when I bathe alone.” he admitted, giddiness washing away with what reminded about itself. _Alone. Loneliness._

Seemed he always been like that. Orphaned in the young age by his mother, father died soon after. Orphanage followed, no foster care ever happened so he went his way. Always a trouble, handful, baggage, obstacle… No future, no prospects, almost no education, constant health problems leaving his account blank and nobody that cared enough. No one gave a shit what, why and when he was doing or if he was in the first place. Will he ever deserve love and affection? Has he? Does he-

“You live here by yourself? Ain’t got no one?” Arthur asked, warily, just barest of sadness coating his voice. “Yeah, none. Guess nobody wants a broken man and an ex-con.” Now, he awaited the corny reaction of the other man; shocked look, disgust, maybe even laughter, all the above probably. He just wanted to receive the usual dose of not believing, like he expected of him to be pushed away and left. But the latter simply sat in place as if he waited for John to say more, explain. No judgment in the way he looked, only something soft and understanding rooted in his glare. “So that’s how you got’em, them scars?” John shifted nervously in place, making water stir, making the memories stir in his head anxiously, gaining more color. “No pressure to tell me, only if you want-“ Arthur cut himself off when the younger man jumped in, suddenly more confident to continue. The older already said enough to seem open and honest so why wouldn’t he make the next move?

“No, actually, got them before. Thanks to my ex. He locked me in a cabin where we were stayin’; that bloke was not right in the head. Said if I don’t prove myself deserving of him, he’ll make me remember who I belong to. And he eventually did. Then, he… he used me..” his voice cracked wetly on the last syllables. Hands trembling, whole body shivering as if cold to the bone, breath hitching. “I had to kill him to escape.” John finished, trying to steady himself, swiping his eyes of remnants of tears. Arthur mouth agape, staring directly into silhouette of the other. “Wolf in sheep’s clothing. Fucker had it comin’.” he lastly commented. “And what happened next?” Marston sighed. “Waited a month before I reported. I was so shaken, traumatized.. Ashamed. No one believed me I was raped. Maybe couple of friends, but there were only few people who’s statements were approved. Charged with first-degree murder and spent a year in prison, but they found evidence on my late ex that eventually got me exonerated. If it weren’t for missus Tilly Jackson, I would still be rotting away behind the bars or, well, maybe already dead.” Arthur nodded, loudly exhaling the air he didn’t know he was holding in. “’m not a religious type, but, God bless Tilly Jackson.” he said slightly amused, hiding all the dread the story brought to him, but also silently thankful for how the situation was resolved.

John only nodded in agreement to the older man’s proclamation, changing his position to grab something from somewhere behind the latter. He had to put one hand on Morgan’s shoulder to not collapse onto the other man, who adjusted to the action. After retrieving some sort of flower scented body wash, Marston sat himself down in front of Arthur, between his legs. The older has been given a bottle of the said liquid, no sponge and acted like he didn’t know what now. “Shall we proceed? The water’s kinda getting cold.” Indeed it was.

The ministrations started rather awkwardly as he spilled an ungodly amount of soap into his cupped hand and slapped almost all of it onto John’s back. It quickly became tentative just as the younger suspected of Arthur, who decided to slowly massage in the liquid, foaming it all over the latter’s shoulders, front, arms and legs as far as he could reach. Releasing tension of muscles in process, causing John to sigh with pleasure, making him contently loll his head back. Fingers tracing circuits along his skin, careful, tender.

Arthur was very much in the process of washing. Somehow the insecurity came back to him nesting itself deeper and deeper. Although self-conscious again, realizing how must he now look as he sat, at least John didn’t see, but he probably already sa- “Something interesting down there?” he heard a mocking over his head, crossing arms abruptly around himself. Covering. Sheltering. His head hung down in a blazing shame; he must be red like a beet. John was staring at him now so he must have unconsciously stopped. Once again Morgan was lost in his head. “Nothin’ really, just fat rolls.” At this point he was sure of John to become dismissive or annoyed with him, being accused of being a pessimist, prepared to be called names. He was already accustomed to it. “Middle-age spread?” the latter asked with no flavor in his voice. Arthur didn’t truly know. It might. It might not. Very likely. “Let myself go I think.” he muttered, sounding miserable; he knew he had done it to himself. “Oh, don’t blame it only on yourself.. Sometimes things just slip, you know?” John now turned to the older man, again cradling his face, smoothing down the tufts of hair. “Besides, everyone has rolls when they sit, so they can’t be that bad, can they, hm?” Arthur’s physiognomy lightened up, he chuckled. “Maybe.” he admitted quietly. “Okay, enough talkin’, let’s get you cleaned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Arthur recites a fragment of is "To Anthea, who may Command him Anything" by Robert Herrick


End file.
